Scribbles
by Green Queen of Clubs
Summary: Phil Coulson, ten years old, is the proud proprietary of a pair of sneakers, an older sister, a crazy aunt and a magical diary. Incognito, nine years old, has nothing but a diary and a mysterious correspondent. Childhood sweethearts and men being stupid stubborn idiots.


**A/N: In this fic I changed the age gap between Phil and Clint for obvious reasons (age differences in childhood can be difficult), so that there is only one year between them.**

**OOOOOO**

Christmas at the Coulson's was a big deal, and had always been. As far as Phil could remember, the house would fill up on at midday on the 24rth, and wouldn't empty until three days later. Relatives, near and distant, would drive or fly from everywhere in the world, meaning that Phil got to see and listen to people he only saw once a year.

He didn't mind it too much; it meant he had more gifts, which was pretty much the best thing ever in his eleven years old mind. However it usually brought weird and slightly boring gifts from the most estranged members of his family, and his parent drilled from his most early age that he had to gush over these too. Wanting nothing more than to please, Phil complied and bore the cheek pinching, the wet kisses and the noisy raptures admirably.

The night was well on its way, mixing more and more into the morning of the 25th, the adults more and more intoxicated at the younger kids were tucked in bed. Phil earned his right of staying up later by slipping back unnoticed, leaving the grownups to their things as he explored his gifts, focusing discreetly on the cool ones. The clothes, the cars and the various sport equipment were discarded, and he was admiring his brand new Captain America cards, from his grandparents on his father's side.

"Phillip."

He tensed, before tucking in card safely, turning afterward. His Great Aunt Elizabeth was standing behind him, inspecting him closely. He did his best to smile and not twitch under her scrutiny.

"Good night, Aunty Lizzy."

She stared for a while longer, before smiling softly, her eyes suddenly distant as they were most of the time. The only time they ever zeroed on something, it was Phil. It always, understandably, made him uncomfortable. That, and the fact she was to this day the only person in the world to persist in calling him Phillip, despite the boy's hatred of his full name.

She was an original that lived alone at the border of a small town. She had been teacher in her early life, but had retired long ago. Her long white hair was completely flat and fell all the way to the small of her back and her eyes were of a whitish blue not unlike those of a blind.

She leaned a bit forward.

"I haven't given you your gift yet."

Phil didn't sigh because he was taught it wasn't polite. Another reason yet he wasn't a big fan of Elizabeth. Most of the time she gave him money, which wasn't as exciting as some, but definitely better than most. Sometimes, though, she would give him something weird, insisting he would need it. Once it was a thick volume about the Norse Mythology, which had admittedly been very interesting, but made him uneasy. Another time it was a pendant representing a bow and arrow. It still sat in his scrap box, the one where he kept various trinkets he couldn't bring himself to throw away, mostly because Elizabeth had seemed almost possessed over it.

All in all, he was hoping for money this year.

She reached in her purse and Phil's heart sank a bit when he realized it was definitely too big to be a card with money. He braced and smiled credibly, at least he hoped so. She handed it to him, smiled still in place.

"Here, I think you'll like it."

He took it, and felt the package. It was a soft covered book of some sort. He unwrapped it carefully, revealing his mistake. It wasn't a book, but a diary, old but in great shawl, beautifully bound in rich black leather, with a magnificent inscription on the top.

"Deux âmes soeurs, deux Coeurs complémentaires, deux Destins extraordinaires."

He stared at it for a long while, unable to read the line, which seemed to be in French. Finally, he looked up and smiled at the older woman.

"Thank you."

She smiled sweetly at him, reaching to touch his cheek lightly with her forefinger.

"Do not thank me yet, my dear child. Promise me to use it. You will find it liberating."

He nodded at her, and looked back down.

"I will."

She looked at him for a long time once more.

"Good boy."

And she walked away. Phil watched her go, before shrugging and setting the diary aside, opening one of his comics. He hadn't promised to do it just now, and he couldn't think of anything to write.

Captain America passed first anyway.

OOOOOOO

Two weeks later, Phil was in his room, staring at his ceiling, bored out of his mind. His mother insisted that he did one hour of homework each night, but they were just back in school and he was done quickly. He hadn't been able to sneak his book up when she sent him, so he was stuck there with nothing to do. He sighed again, and looked around. His gaze fell on the diary his aunt gave him, at the same place he threw it on the 26th, when most of the people had cleared the place.

He stared at it for a while, but then shrugged. Why the hell not? It wasn't as if he had anything better to do and he promised might as well try. He grabbed a black pen, the diary and went to lie on the bed. He flipped the small book open on the first page, scribbling the date in the upper corner.

He stared at it for a long while, debating what to write. Finally he decided that he wouldn't have anything real to write in the diary, he might as well invent something. In the little book, he could be someone else. He could be a super hero, writing his diary. Then he shook his head. A super hero wouldn't have time to write a diary. He would be a side kick, recording the exploits of the hero, like Watson to Sherlock Holmes. He scrunched his face an effort to find a good name, and lightened when he did. He wrote down, in the neat script he inherited from his father.

_My name is Incognito._

He stared at the line for a few seconds; just enough to decide his power would be invisibility, when the ink disappeared, fading in the paper. He froze, before flipping through it, trying to find the ink, but it had all but vanished. He went back to the first page, where another line had appeared in place of his.

_Who fucking hell ar you_

Phil blinked a few times before gingerly taking his pen again.

_Excuse me?_

The answer came promptly, the writing unruly and messy, the line obviously scribbled in a rush.

_Who ar you? Why ar yuo in the booc?_

Phil frowned even more at that, and wrote again. His mother had taught him not to talk to strangers, but he was technically writing to a diary. He was pretty sure she hadn't said anything against that.

_I'm not in a book, I'm in my room._

There was a longer pause.

_Wo ar you?_

Phil cocked his head to the side.

_I am Incognito._

That answer came more quickly.

_Its no a name_

Phil rolled his eyes like his older sister at that.

_It's my hero name. _

_Your a hero?_

Phil smiled.

_Not yet, but when I'm big and strong, I'll be and I'll be Incognito. What's you super hero name?_

The pause was so long Phil thought maybe the other had went away, or thrown his diary away.

_I don't have one._

Phil frowned a bit at that.

_You have to invent one. For when you'll be a hero!_

The writing was even wobbly not, as if the other kid was shaking.

_Wil no be a hero._

Phil cocked his head.

_Why not?_

_Im stupid._

Phil bit his lip, not sure what to say. Finally, he wrote once more.

_No you're not. And you can be a hero anyway. But you need a name. _

_I don kno hero names._

Phil shrugged.

_I can help you. Are you a boy or a girl?_

The answer was quicker than the others.

_Boy_

Phil smiled and continued.

_What do you like?_

The boy obviously needed to think about that one, but he answered after a long time.

_Robin Hood._

Phil bit his lower lip again, cocking his head.

_You like thieves?_

_Bow an arrow_

Phil did his best not to turn to look at the box containing the pendant from Elizabeth. It was just a coincidence. Instead he focused on finding a name. His mother was a historian specialized in Antic Greece, and a name came pretty quickly.

_Apollo?_

_Nice. Wy?_

Phil smiled and wrote.

_Greek god of archery._

_Im no god._

Phil rolled his eyes again.

_I know that. But it's a cool name._

_Yeah. Thanks._

_No problem._

"Phil! Dinner is served!"

He turned toward his door and answered.

"A minute mom!"

He turned toward the diary, where Apollo had answered.

_Wy Incogit_

Phil smiled.

_I'll tell you later, dinner is ready. Talk to you later?_

He was out of his room before the answer came, knowing if he took too long, his sister would be sent after him, and he didn't want he ferreting around his business. Especially the diary.

OOOOOOO

The food was good, even if his family seemed to be worried about his twitchiness. He evaded their questions with reassurances, not wanting to share Apollo with them. They wouldn't believe him anyway.

Finally he was able to flee to his room, and he threw himself in the bed, after closing the door behind him. He opened the diary and saw a little _Yeah _that must have been Apollo's answer to his last sentence about dinner. He took his pen again and wrote down.

_Hey! _

The answer came a few second later.

_Yuor back_

Phil smiled.

_I am. So, do you like Apollo?_

_Yeah. You want kno my name?_

Phil thought about it for a moment.

_No. We are hero, and we have to protect our secret identity. Okay?_

_Yeah. Do we hav powers?_

Phil pondered and shrugged.

_I can be invisible. You?_

_I can fly._

Phil smiled.

_Cool. Now we can kick their butts. _

_Who?_

Phil huffed.

_The bad guy. Of course. We are heroes._

_Who are bad guys?_

_The mean people. The bullies. The ones that hit other people. The ones that kill other people._

The silence stretched, and Phil looked anxiously, hoping Apollo would think he is a nerd too. He knew he sounded a bit too much like Captain America. But finally something came up.

_Heros stop bad guy? _

_Yes. _

_Heros are no good. _

_What do you mean?_

_Ther is bad guys still._

Phil frowned at the answer, wondering.

_That's why they need our help._

_Ok._

He cocked his head to the side.

_How old are you?_

_9. Ok?_

Phil smiled.

_It's perfect. You can start your training, and when you strong enough you can fight bad guys._

_Ok. You?_

_10. I have been training for a while now._

_Ok. I have to go to sleep now. _

Phil frowned, a bit disappointed he had to stop talking to Apollo, but a look at the clock confirmed it was pretty late, and he should go to bed too. He bit his lips lightly.

_Okay. Talk to you tomorrow?_

The answer was quick and eager.

_Yes_

Phil smiled at that.

_Have good dreams then._

_You to_

OOOOOOO

The day after, Phil was woken by his mother, and was pressed by his sister not to be late for school, and he hadn't time to write anything more than a quick note to Apollo.

_Off to school, talk to you later._

He hoped the other boy wouldn't mind too much. Phil like school just fine, and was usually one of the most dedicated student in his class, but today he just couldn't. He simply couldn't the strange little diary and the other boy out of his head. He wasn't an idiot. He knew diaries weren't supposed to answer the person writing in it. It especially wasn't supposed to get you to correspond with someone he, at least he thought, he had never met before.

When lunch came, Phil walk, feeling dejected, to his usual spot, in the back of the dining room, where he was pretty safe from bullies. They didn't bother to go that far back.

"Hey Pippy!"

The only problem was that he actually had to get there. Phil hugged his lunch box to his chest and stopped. He didn't turn though. He didn't want to see the others. He didn't want them to see him.

"Got any _Captain America _sandwich, or did she stick with jello? The lunch of freedom?"

Phil rolled his eyes and started walking again. Their insults were getting more and more ridiculous. He was almost ashamed for them.

He sat on his table, alone as usual. He kept his things neatly stacked in his space, hoping against hope that someone would come and talk with him. However, as stupid as the bullies' jokes were, they were doing a pretty job at keeping people from being friendly to him.

He wished he had brought the diary. At least he would have someone to talk to. Or write to. Same difference.

The rest of the day went uneventfully. If his teacher notice he wasn't as focused as he usually was, she was nice enough not to comment.

When he got to his house, he yelled a "Good evening" to his family and locked himself in his room. He threw himself on the bed and opened the diary. Apollo had answered.

_Hav fun_

Phil smiled and scribbled as fast as he could, his usually neat handwriting now closer to Apollo's.

_Hey! I'm back! Had a good day?_

Only then did he realise that Apollo probably wouldn't answer right away. He was probably still in school or something. It wasn't fair from Phil to expect immediate answers from the other boy.

Just as he was fighting through disappointment, an answer appeared on the page.

_Hey! It was boring._

Phil cocked his head.

_You're done with school?_

_Im in shcool_

Phil frowned and indulged a bit in his lecturing tendencies.

_You should pay attention._

_I dont like shcool_

_Your teacher doesn't mind?_

Phil could almost see the careless shrug from the other boy.

_Teacher dont care bout me_

Phil frowned at that.

_Why wouldn't he?_

_Im stupid_

Phil's eyes popped open. If teachers ignored students because they were 'stupid', he knew a lot of kids in his school that would fail.

_Do your parents know about this?_

_My parent are dead_

Phil paused for a long moment, not sure how he was supposed to react to this. He knew kids with divorced parents, he knew kids with gay parents, he even knew a girl who had three parents at the same time, but no one talked about that one.

He didn't know kids with no parents. Though, he knew _people _with no parents.

_That's okay. You see, you're an even better super hero now. Superman, Batman and Captain America didn't have any parents either._

_No?_

_No._

There was a pause as Apollo pondered over that.

_Cool_

_Yeah. But you're not stupid, you know?_

_I dont learn nothin_

Phil frowned before answering cautiously.

_I can help you._

_No to stupid_

Phil pinched his lips and answered.

_No, you're not. See, right there, you should have written 'No. Too stupid.' Or if you wanted to be perfectly grammatically correct, it's 'No. I'm too stupid.'_

There was a long pause. A very long pause.

_Go to hel_

Phil drew back, frowning.

_Excuse me?_

_I dont need no fucking smar dud laughin at me. I hav enouh her._

Phil's mouth hung open.

_No, no, no. Of course not. I just want to help._

_Go to hel_

Phil felt like crying. Why did it always end this way? Why couldn't he interact and make friends like normal person.

_I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you._

_Righ, fucking nerd_

Phil's eyes were definitely crying now.

_I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone now. I'm sorry._

He closed the book and threw it at the other side of his room in a rare bout of violence. He resisted the urge to curl on his side with all he had. He was ten; he wasn't going to cry like a baby.

There was something wrong with him, and Apollo was far from stupid to realise it without actually meeting Phil.

The boy pushed himself of the bed and went to work. If he was to stay alone for the rest of his life, might as well have good grades.

OOOOOO

The diary stayed where he threw it for three days, beside his old mathematics book and his dirty gym clothes.

Then his mother got the genius idea to force him to clean his room. He picked it up with every intention of throwing it away, Aunt Lizzy or no Aunt Lizzy, but he opened it, because he was a glutton for punishment.

_Hey?_

_Hey, dude?_

_Incogito?_

_Hey?_

_Please, ar yuo ther?_

_Inco?_

_Im sory_

_Ryly_

Phil looked at the lines, hands shaking a bit. It was the first time anyone actually apologized for insulting him. Just as he stared at the pages, another one appeared, even shakier than the others.

_Im realy sory. Im to stupid to hav friend. Im sory._

Phil grabbed a pen and answered.

_It's okay. I'm too smart to have friends._

_Mabe we can be friend?_

Phil thought about it for a moment.

_If you don't make fun of me._

_Im sory._

_Just don't do it again._

_Ok_

_I can really help you. I'm not laughing at you._

_Ok_

_I'm sorry too._

_No reason to be._

_Ok._

_Ok_

_This is getting ridiculous._

_Yeah._

_So, how was life?_

_Borin._

_Boring._

_Righ_

_Right._

_Im goin to regret that._

_I'm going to regret this. People usually regret talking to me._

_Dont say tat._

_Don't say __that__. And why not?_

_If I can't say Im stupid, you can't say that._

Phil stared at the page for a long while.

_Okay_

_Cool. No can you wright you're nam agan? I dont remeber it._

_It's Incognito. __Now can you write your name again? I don't remember it._

_Okay. Thanks._

_No problem._

"Phil!"

He turned around and answered "One minute Dad!"

_Got to go._

_My too. The nuns are freeked by me writin for so lon._

Phil smiled.

_I'll give you a pass for this one. Good night._

_Good night_

Phil turned around and put the little black book gently on the side table, and worked for a few seconds on getting his smile under control.

OOOOOOOO

_What's it like, too be normal?_

_To be normal.__ I don't know. _

_Why not?_

_I'm not normal._

_Sure you are. You have parents a sister you go to schol._

_School__. It doesn't mean I'm normal. _

_Why not?_

_I don't have friends. I collect everything I can find on Captain America. I talk to a boy I've never seen through a diary._

_Right. But u have a friend. _

_Thanks Lo._

_You're welcome._

_It's fine, most of the time._

_What?_

_"Being normal." It's good when you have someone to talk to._

_Sometimes you sound like a girl._

_Sorry._

_No. Its okay. Nice. Beter than tryin to put my head in the toilt_

_I'd never. I wish I could help you. _

_I now. _

_I have to go._

_Yeah, me to._

_Me __too._

_Know it all_

_You love it_

_Get lost_

_See you_

OOOOOOOO

Phil was finishing his homework as well as he good, as he had a big exam coming, all the while cursing Apollo for choosing the worse possible timing to disappear. He hadn't written to him in days.

Even now, two years after Aunt Lizzy gave Phil his diary, they at least said a word to each other every day, even if it was nothing more than _Hi _and _Got to go. _Nevertheless, it was something.

However now, it was radio silence on the other end, and it was driving Phil out of his mind. He tried to control himself and failed miserably, ending up sending lines to Apollo every few hours.

Yet, no answer ever came back. For all he knew, the boy could be in the hospital, beating up by the jerks at the orphanage. Or somebody managed to convince him that writing in a diary was for girls. God knew his brother tried times and times again.

Phil's brain ran circles around all the possible problems, worrying his parents, his teacher and even his sister, who always did her best to ignore him, even more so now that she found herself a boyfriend.

He finished his math problem with a flourish, and caved in the urge to send another message to Apollo. But when he opened the cover, a familiar handwriting was spread.

_Calm down, I'm fine._

Phil felt a sigh of relief escape him.

_Where were you?_

He tried to be calm, but if Apollo could read in his writing as he could in the other boy's, he failed. He didn't care too much though. If there was one person in the world he could trust with his feelings, it should be Apollo.

_It's complicated._

_How so?_

_You woudn't undertand._

Phil frowned. In the last few years he did pretty good work on Apollo's English, and for him to make such obvious mistakes, something must have be bothering him a lot.

_Try me._

_Come on, Nito. Just drop it._

_Not a chance._

_You're a fucking stubborn bastard._

_Language._

_I RAN AWAY! HAPPY NOW?_

Phil froze for a long while, starring at the pages. Why did Apollo always found the thing to say that threw him off his game?

_Why?_

_Because i was fucking done with the freaking orphanage, and Barney was going away and I wasn't going to stay behind by myself!_

Phil felt his heart break, and not for the first time, prayed he could be by Apollo's side to help him, for real.

_Oh. Where are you now?_

_In a circus._

_Oh._

_Yeah._

_Is it nice?_

_It's okay._

Phil felt the uncertainty from the letters, but decided not to call Apollo on it.

_What are you doing now?_

_We work and they give us a place to stay and food._

_What about school?_

_There's no school._

_Apollo._

_I was failing anyway. You don't need school to work in a circus._

_You were doing well._

_Look, I get school is important to you, but not to me. I'm happy here. Please leave it at that._

_Ok._

_Thanks._

_I have to go now._

_Ok. Nito?_

_Yeah?_

_I'm sorry I worried you._

_It doesn't matter._

_Yes it does. I'm sorry._

_Good night._

_Yeah. You too._

Phil forced his fingers to unclench, hoping against hope everything would go fine for Apollo, no matter how much the evidences pointed to the contrary.

OOOOOOO

_Trickshot notices me!_

_Okay?_

_He's going to train me!_

_Trickshot's the archer, right?_

_Yeah! I'm going to have an act!_

_Cool! Archery too, or are you going to be the scarcely dressed assistant?_

_Go to hell, bloody snob._

_Congratulations, though._

_Thanks. It's awesome._

_Yeah, it is. Are you going to have a stage name?_

_Yeah. _

_What is it?_

_No._

_What? _

_I'm not telling you._

_Why not?_

_Because. _

_Okay. You're no fun._

_Look who's talking._

_I am sticking my tongue at you, just so you know._

_Mature._

_Not really trying to be._

_Gasp!_

_Haha. They should have given you a clown act, not a marksman one. _

_That's it. My talent is not recognized to its true potential around here. I'm gone._

_Ciao_

_You were supposed to apologize_

_Good night._

_Why am I putting up with you?_

_Sweet dreams._

_Good night to you too, you freaking nerd._

OOOOOO

It was Phil's first day of High School, and he was a wreck. Through the years, his Middle School fellow student got bored of picking on him, and moved on. By the end of it he even had a few guys and girls he could pursue a civil conversation with. Of course that meant things had to change yet again.

There were more people, far older than he was. Far stronger. People he didn't know. That didn't know him. That wouldn't understand he wasn't snotty on purpose.

Apollo assured him it would be a good chance to have new friends. Phil didn't really believe him, it wasn't as if the other teen had ever been to High School, but he couldn't really keep himself from hoping.

His left hand was stuffed in his jeans' pocket, clutching his bow and arrow pendant, the same one Aunt Lizzy gave him. Since Apollo told him he was doing an archer number in his circus, he carried it everywhere. Today it was even more of a life line, reassuring him, as much of a physical presence that Apollo ever was.

The day went fine, Phil following the mob of freshman that were frisked from one end of the school to the other by well-meaning teachers that honestly thought it would help them find their way once by themselves.

But then they were released, and told to make acquaintances for an hour or two. Phil pinched his lips and went to eat his lunch in a corner, not really knowing how to approach people as a group, preferring to wait until they were more personal, like in class or something like that.

When he was done, he slipped out unnoticed by the chaperones, and went to find a bathroom. His quest was interrupted by three boys coming out of a hallway to his right.

"Hey! A freshie!"

Phil cringed.

"Hey, kid, what's in that box?"

Phil shook his head.

"It's empty. I already ate my lunch."

They ripped it from nevertheless.

"Is that Captain America?"

Phil tried to square his jaw, but they simply laughed.

"Captain America doesn't like squirts like you, freshie."

Phil closed his eyes. Captain America didn't like bullies. Captain America would've helped him, but Captain America wasn't real. He kept his eyes closed as they pushed him in the wall, as they tried to dunk his head in the toilet, hitting his forehead on the bowl in the process.

That night he fled to his room before his mother could see him. He threw his bag on the bed, scribbled a quick _Hi _in the diary before going to wash himself. He didn't really want to talk to Apollo, but if he didn't the other would know something was amiss.

He took a few more steadying breaths in the bathroom before going back to his room. He gingerly opened the diary.

_What's the matter?_

Phil sighed.

_Nothing. I'm just tired._

_Bullshit._

Phil rubbed his eyes. Apollo had the gift to be intuitive at the worst possible moments.

_Please, let's not do this tonight._

_Oh yes, we're doing this tonight. What happened?_

_Nothing. I'm just tired._

_You've already said that._

_Still true._

_I've already called bullshit._

_Polo._

_Don't use the nicknames now. What happened? Someone insulted you?_

_Please, Apollo._

_Someone hit you?_

_Nothing __**happened.**_

_Did. Someone. Hit. You._

Phil's fists clenched and he did his best not to scream. It wasn't as if it would affect Apollo in any way, and it would get his parents on his case.

_Yes. Happy now? I'm that much of a loser that it takes about ten minutes for bullies to find me. And I let them. I let them push me in the wall, and in the toilet. Because I'm a __**fucking **__loser. Now go to hell and leave me alone._

He closed the diary and went back in the bathroom to inspect the bruise that was blooming on his forehead. There was no way he could hide this from his mother. He prodded it for a few moments.

"Phil?"

He startled, and turned around, bracing himself on the counter. His sister was standing in the doorway, staring at his forehead, mouth slightly opened. They stayed like that for a few moments, before she closed it and grasped his wrist. She dragged him to her room, and forced him on the bed, rummaging in her make up bag. Then she set to masking the purplish skin, still silent and eyes flaming. When she was done she took a few moments to inspect it.

"Chris is a black belt in judo. He could teach you."

Phil's eyes jumped to her face.

"He would?"

Her eyes stayed on the bruise, and she nodded briskly.

"Yeah."

Phil nodded. He didn't know her boyfriend much, but he didn't have much to lose. Not after today.

"I'll think about it."

She nodded again, softer, before drawing him into a hug. Phil froze then returned it. Sometimes, his sister was great.

When he got back to his room, he opened the diary gingerly, not sure he could handle it if Apollo made fun of him.

_Shut up. You're not a loser._

_I'm sorry about what happened. You didn't deserve it._

_You're ignoring me again, are you? Fine._

_I'm not going to leave you, though, you know that? You're stuck with me. For all it's worth, I think you're great._

_I kind of want to tear the guys apart._

_I'm taking for granted they're guys. Is it sexist?_

Phil sighed and picked up his pen.

_It's statistically sound. So I would say no._

_Hey you're back. Took you less time than usual._

_I was bounding with my sister._

_Did she give you a manicure?_

_She makeuped the bruise on my forehead._

_Oh. Sorry._

_It's fine. I should go see my mom before she explodes._

_Right. See you._

_Yeah._

_Nito? I meant it. You're a great guy._

_Thanks._

_Later._

_Ciao_

OOOOOOO

_Hey Nito?_

_Yeah?_

_What do you look like?_

_Why do you ask?_

_It's weird. We've know each other for six years and I don't know which colors your eyes are._

_Blue. _

_Mine too._

_My hair is brown, my nose is a little crooked and I'm about 5'7._

_Cool. I'm blond, small and "squishy", whatever that means._

_Lovely._

_Go to hell._

_I was being sincere._

_Right. I have to go, the boss is calling me._

_See you. _

_Yeah, same._

OOOOOOOO

Phil jerked awake, bolting upright. He panted heavily for a few seconds before falling back on his mattress. He grimaced at the sticky state of his sheets, glad his parents were away for the weekend. They had been kind enough not to comment on the increase of the number of his bed wear that made their way in the laundry lately, but it didn't stop him from being more than embarrassed by it.

Not for the first time, he swore against Apollo. He had known he was attracted to men for a while now, but it had never been an issue until the other boy got the sudden urge to discover Phil's appearance, all the while disclosing he himself fit right in the older boy's type.

Ever since, Phil had had rather steamy dreams -and daydreams- about a certain sarcastic archer. It was inconvenient to say the least.

He had been considering telling Apollo about his orientation for a moment, but the present situation just slapped another layer of 'it's complicated' on top of everything. It was like admitting a childhood friend he was attracted to him, but a childhood friend who had a very easy and efficient way of never speaking to him again.

Maybe Apollo was right about him avoiding and ignoring personal issues.

Phil shook his head and looked to his bedside. It was six, he would be about to wake anyway.

He started to prepare himself for his day. High School had improved somewhat over the last two years. He had even made a few friends, which had caused a rather hilarious bout of jealousy on Apollo's side. He wasn't bullied anymore. Apparently kicking three guys' asses and convincing a Principal they had mysteriously started fighting each other was a major turn off for thugs. Go figure.

The day went as smoothly as any other, a slow Friday crawling by to everyone's despair.

Finally he went back to his house, rushing by his sister and her boyfriend-the same one that taught Phil how to defend himself-who were pretending they hadn't been eating each other's' face when Phil opened the door.

He flopped on the bed and threw his bag away in a flourish. TGIF.

The black diary was waiting for him, somehow still in perfect shape after so many years of use.

_Nito?_

Phil read Apollo's uncertainty and frowned.

_What's the matter?_

_Nothing._

_Apollo._

_You do realise scolding me doesn't really work when I don't see you._

_Apollo._

_Go to hell._

_Apollo._

_Why do you always assume the worst?_

_Apollo._

_I like boys._

Phil froze for a long moment before releasing a long breath.

_Is it all?_

_What the hell, is it all! I just said I was gay!_

_It's not that much of a big deal. Congratulation, though._

_You kind of contradicted yourself._

_Contradicted. I didn't._

_How so?_

_It's not a big deal but it's good you admit it to yourself._

_And if I said I think I'm gay for blue eyed, brown haired, crook nosed man with slight super hero fetishes?_

Phil forgot to breathe for a few second.

_I'd say I pretty sure I'm into blue eyed fair haired squishy dudes._

_Seriously?_

_Yeah._

_That was the most anticlimactic declaration ever._

_Fifty points for using anticlimactic in the right context._

_Did I tell you to go to hell?_

_Several times._

_Go to hell anyway._

Phil smiled, and cocked his head to the side.

_I dreamed about you sucking my cock._

His face heated up bright red at writing the line, and he waited for the answer, completely still.

_Was I any good?_

He chuckled, and squinted at the page, worrying his lower lip.

_So good. You took it all and sucked it tight. You kept palming my ass, pushing me tighter against you._

He stopped there, letting the message go. Apollo's answer was a bit shaky.

_What happened after?_

_I woke up._

_NO! You can't do that, you can't leave it there!_

Phil smiled, and had to admit his own body was getting interested.

_Getting excited?_

_Nito, please._

Phil stared for a while. Apollo never asked for anything. He took his pen and wrote, not really sure where he was going.

_It's so good I can't take it. I'm pulling at your hair. I'm trying not to force you, but I'm trusting a bit anyway. You don't seem too mind either way. Just when I'm about to come, you pull back, because you're nothing but a bastard._

He let it go, but didn't leave any time for Apollo to answer.

_So I push you down so you're lying down and I'm above you. I kiss you. I can taste myself. God it shouldn't be hot. You're already naked, so it's easy to take you in my hand. I'm stroking you, so slow it almost hurts, and I kiss you at the same time. You sound like you're dying._

He stopped writing.

_Feel like it_

He smiled, ignoring his now hard cock in favor of answering.

_Are you close?_

_Yes_

_Good. Think you can come when I tell you that you do?_

_Fast_

_Right. I am sliding down your body. You're swearing at me because I'm a man tease, but I like playing with you nipples. My hand is going faster._

He waited.

_I lick down to your dick. I lick a long strip of it. I barely have the time to wrap my mouth around the tip and you come into my mouth._

He stopped writing and took at least a minute to simply breathe, right until his own member signified its presence and impatience. He went to wrap his hand around it when a word appeared.

_Wait_

He stilled, staring at the page, hand covering his crotch, still clothed.

_Wait for me._

_I won't last for long._

_It's ok. Let me try?_

Apollo's writing was loose as it rarely was, maybe a little slurred. Phil longed for the same release.

_Ok_

It was nearly a minute before the reply came.

_After I come, you open my leg. I'm loose. You stretched me earlier. You only have to slid in. You feel so big. I'm so tight. You're my first. You go all the way. Your balls rub against my ass. It's so good. It's hot and perfect. _

Phil stared at the text, moaning under his breathe, and he nearly ripped his pants off, grabbing his cock and jerking his cock as fast as he can.

_You don't last long, you're too excited. You slam in a few times and you come in ass._

The permission given, it only takes three more thugs for him to come for real, dripping hot on his hand.

After a few seconds Apollo inquires.

_Good?_

_So good._

_We have to do that again._

_We have to get better at it._

_Definitely._

_Thanks._

_Right back at you._

OOOOOOO

_Nito?_

_What?_

_Are you busy?_

_Well, I'm currently trying to finish the most important project of my entire scholarship. _

_Oh. Sorry._

_Why?_

_Doesn't matter. I didn't want to bother you._

_It was a joke, Lo. What's going on?_

_Nothing. I'll talk to you later._

_Okay. Good night._

_Good night._

OOOOOOO

Phil ran back at home, the pile of paper firmly tucked under his arm. He knew he was probably looking completely mad, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He barged in, and waved excitedly at his parents before jumping up the stairs.

Phil was just getting settled with his diary when he heard someone knocked on his door. He jumped and cursed himself. He was usually far more observant. He threw his diary in his nightstand before turning around.

"It's open!"

His sister opened the door gingerly, eyes soft and somehow a bit sad. She had moved out a while back now, but she came to visit at least once a week. Phil frowned and sat up.

"What's wrong?"

She didn't answer, and nodded toward the papers he had scattered on his bed in an attempt to remind himself it was real.

"So it's done?"

Phil nodded in answer.

"Yep."

She sighed, and sighed herself on the bed.

"Are you sure about this, Phil? You're barely adult."

He frowned at her.

"I can make decisions for myself."

She wrung her hands a bit, looking for the appropriate words.

"I know, but this is a big deal. It's the army. It's the war."

The young boy squared his jaw.

"I am aware of that."

She sighed again.

"Listen, it's just- I just wanna be sure it's what you want."

"Of course it's what-"

"I know how Mom and Dad can be Phil, about serving the country and all that. But you don't have to do this for them."

He looked at her for a long while, before whispering.

"I'm not."

She stared skeptically at him.

"Phil-"

He slashed with his hands.

"No, no listen. I want to go. I want to help. I want to fight. I can do something else after."

She looked crushed, and her voice was weak.

"There might not be an after."

Phil held her gaze.

"I know."

She closed her eyes tightly in an effort not to cry, before grabbing his arm, dragging him into the tightest of the hugs. He answered in spade. Neither of them talked. They weren't good at talking to each other.

Finally she let him go and left the room, not looking back. Phil rubbed his eyes with his hands' heels.

Hoping to get in a better mood, he picked up the diary from where he threw it. He smiled at the blank page as he scribbled.

_Hey!_

_Someone's in a good mood_

Phil never knew how Apollo could answer so quickly all the time. The only moment he wouldn't answer in a fifteen seconds time span was when he was performing in the circus. He appreciated it though.

_You say that. How are you?_

_Fine, I guess, not much happening around here. Pretty boring town. _

_Sorry to hear that._

_Ok, spit it out. I know you're dying to tell me._

Phil took a deep breathe.

_I enlisted today._

There was an uncannily long pause.

_Enlisted?_

Phil frowned.

_In the army, what other kind of enlisted is there?_

_You're going to be in the army?_

_Yeah_

_Where the hell does that come from?_

_What?_

_You've never told me about it!_

Phil could feel the twinge of hurt in the sharpness of the letters and winced at the twinge of guilt that accompanied it.

_I wanted to be sure it's was what I wanted and all that._

_Oh._

_Apollo?_

_It's cool._

_What's wrong?_

_Helping the country, protecting the widow and the orphan. _

_What's the matter?_

_There's no matter. I was just expressing my approval at your life choice._

Phil frowned. Apollo had expressed approval before and it definitely didn't look like this.

_Apollo_

_Look, can you hold that thought? The boss is calling for me._

Phil had a bad feeling whispering in his chest but there wasn't much he could do about it.

_Sure._

_Later._

_Ciao_

Phil closed the diary and made his way downstairs trying to shake of the weariness that had settled in his bones after his discussion with his sister and with Apollo.

The army was the right choice for him.

He knew that. Why was everyone acting so weird about it?

He knew he could do some good.

He knew it.

OOOOOOO

_Hey, you said we would talk about the army thing later, and it's been three days. You haven't answered me. Is everything alright?_

OOOOOOO

_If you're doing this to prove that it sucks when I ignore you, good job. I got your point. Come on. Say something._

OOOOOOO

_Ok, asshole. I have never ignored you for two weeks._

OOOOOOO

_I'm leaving in three days. I'm sorry for whatever I did. _

OOOOOOO

_I'm leaving tomorrow. I seriously considered leaving the diary behind. I won't do it. But I thought about it. _

OOOOOOO

Phil Coulson was beginning his second year in the army, and he was doing great. He was esteemed by his fellow soldier and his superiors, climbing ranks faster than anyone would have thought, looking at the unassuming young man who blended in perfectly with his fellow recruits.

He was doing well in the army.

His parents were happy.

His sister was more and more convinced that he would make it out of his tour without filling up a body bag.

Everything was good in his world.

Except.

Except that little black leathered bound diary he still carried with him, and that remained stubbornly silent, even after twenty four months.

The one he looked in day after day, hoping against hope to find an answer, an apology, something. Anything.

The one he wrote in once a week. The things his unit had been up to, funny thing that happened to him. Inane little things that punctuated his life now and then.

Everything he wished he could share with Apollo, laugh about, discuss.

He never got anything back. For all he knew, the other boy could have burned his own diary. God knew Phil got close to a few times.

However he didn't, just as much as he didn't crush his old bow and arrow pendant. Just in case, for some reason or another Apollo decided to make contact again.

Hope springs eternal.

OOOOOOOO

S.H.I.E.L.D. was nothing like what Phil expected it to be, and exactly what he had always wanted.

Instead of the rigidly, militarily disciplined structure, he encountered an Agency that acted often out of the law's bound, led by a profound believer that the end justifies the means.

Phil thrived in it.

His parents and his sister thought he had been given a desk job in the army, something about operations supervision, and Phil wasn't about to tell them otherwise.

The only downside about being perpetually States side-as far as they were aware-was the recurrent interrogations about the potentially upcoming family, by his family.

Phil always kept himself from blurting out he wasn't interested in anyone. Partly because they wouldn't understand, partly because it was a lie. He simply didn't know _who_ he was interested in.

Furthermore, after six years of radio silence, he was pretty sure whatever might have existed between them was purely one sided.

He kept writing in the diary once a week, more for therapeutic reasons than any other. Since his enrollment in the agency he watched himself, feeding the diary and whoever may or -most probably- may not be on the other side the same lies about the army desk job.

It helped anyway.

OOOOOOO

Fury barged in Phil's office, a thick file clutched in his hand. The white man looked up, schooling his expression in a bland curiosity. He had learned a while back that being out of control, in any way, was a good way to get in trouble, may it be compromised, hurt or killed.

With Fury it mostly meant giving the Director Blackmail material. It was never a good idea; the older man was far too good at that game.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

The tall man glared at him through his one good eye.

"What do you know about Hawkeye?"

Phil's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline.

"Except his reputation as a mercenary? Not much."

Fury threw the file open to a grainy picture of a man. He was half turned, spiky hair and impressive shoulders on display. Coulson had told the truth. Hawkeye was legendary, a formidable assassin, one of the best snipers in the world.

Until now he hadn't been in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s way, but apparently the status quo had been broken.

"We've gotten a report he has been hired to put a hit on one of the WSC members. We need him down."

Coulson looked at the photograph. Fury kept talking.

"You can do whatever you want, use whoever you want, spend as much as you want, but you have to stop him."

Phil looked up and nodded once, sharp and precise.

"Yes sir."

Fury nodded back and swirled around leaving Phil alone in his office with Hawkeye's photograph.

OOOOOOOO

Phil didn't write about Hawkeye in the diary.

He ignored the logic less guilt that burned in his belly.

He hadn't any obligation toward anyone in that regard.

OOOOOOO

Phil was pretty sure the situation warranted some dramatic setting, like a thunder storm or at the very least heavy rain.

However, the sun was shining bright and happy, as Phil towered over the young man. Hawkeye was crouched on the roof of the building, a bullet in the thigh, suffering from blood loss.

"Hawkeye."

The man rasped tiredly.

"Go fuck yourself."

Phil sighed.

"Ignoring the physical impossibility of the fact, I doubt it would be useful for your current predicament."

Hawkeye turned, trying to look away. Phil sighed again and stepped over the blond to crouch where he could see his face.

"I was ordered to kill you."

There was a flash of fear in the blue eyes, just for a second, as they jumped to meet Phil's. Then it was gone, and the assassin made a valiant effort at a smirk.

"How about a head shot?"

Phil shook his head and looked around.

"I said I was ordered to. Not that I was going to."

Hawkeye frowned at him. Phil stared at him steadily.

"What?"

Phil smiled gently at him.

"I am offering you a job."

"What?"

Phil sighed and looked around.

"At the moment, you have two choices. Either you accept my offer and come work at S.H.I.E.L.D., and we'll make sure you are healed correctly, or I give you the head shot you were asking for."

There was a tense silence, before the mercenary nodded. Phil smiled and took out his radio.

"Extraction team. Come get us."

Sitwell's voice answered him, incredulous.

"Us?"

Phil looked back at Hawkeye, who was lying on his back, looking at him with bottomless eyes.

"Us."

OOOOOOO

_Dear Diary,_

_Please help me; I think I'm falling in love. _

OOOOOOO

Phil cursed himself, as he tore through the town to run back to the safe house. He had been working with Hawkeye with almost four years now, and he really should have known better.

He knew nothing about the man. He didn't even know Hawkeye's real name, or his past, or anything.

The other man owed no loyalty to either him or S.H.I.E.L.D. He had paid his debt to them a long time ago. Phil knew it. Phil knew there was no reason for Hawkeye to stick with them.

He knew it.

However he hadn't gotten over falling for the wrong person while aging. And he hadn't gotten over rugged blond archers.

He hadn't gotten over being thrown away.

And now Hawkeye was gone, running away with the Black Widow.

Phil kicked the door open, expecting to be jump on, but the house was empty, and identical to how he had left it, down to the hairs in his bedroom door. He ignored everything and went to Hawkeye's. Maybe something could help him find the wayward specialist.

He tore through the trunks. Whatever had decided Hawkeye to turn hadn't been planned. He left almost all his stuff back here.

Suddenly he froze. His hands had it something that felt awfully familiar. Smooth, worn leather. Slowly, he took it out.

A black leathered diary, with a French silver inscription. Phil's hands were shaking.

He opened the diary. The first page was blank, but afterward it was filled, almost cover to cover with writing. His writing. Over ten years of weekly updates.

Ten years of his life, laid down on paper.

Phil stared before closing the book softly.

Apparently he had been stupid enough to fall for the same man twice.

Okay. It would be easier to let go of one person instead of two.

His cell phone rang. He picked up quickly.

"Coulson."

"Sir?"

Phil froze at the sound of Hawkeye's voice.

"What do you want?"

There was a weary sigh at the other end of the line.

"Can you trust me?"

Phil frowned, clutching the little book in his free hand.

"Why?"

Hawkeye's voice was scratchy.

"She wants to come in?"

Phil tensed.

"It's not your call to make."

"It wasn't yours to make to bringing me either."

Phil didn't answer.

"Please. Coulson."

He sighed. It was a humongous mistake.

"Bring her here."

He hung up, before Hawkeye could add anything more.

The meeting with the Widow was uneventful. A week later they were back at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s HQ, and Phil was working.

He had spent days going against Fury, Hill, and the World Security Council, who had never forgiven Hawkeye for the murder attempt, to defend the asset.

He was exhausted.

Hawkeye walked in, shoulders tensed. He plumped down in the chair in front of the senior agent. Phil looked up and waited.

The archer rubbed the back of his neck.

"Thank you."

Phil didn't look away.

"She will be a great asset for S.H.I.E.L.D."

The blond frowned.

"Is that all?"

"Is that all what?"

The archer looked around.

"Is that the only reason?"

Phil smiled, but there was no happiness in it, and the younger man flinched.

"If the question is, did I agree to bring Black Widow because I trust you, no I don't."

Hawkeye leaned back, eyebrows flying up.

"Why not?"

Phil rose up, and leaned forward.

"Trust works both ways, Hawkeye. You don't trust me. You ran away without telling me."

Clint jumped to his feet as well.

"She wanted help! So I helped her. You said it yourself. She's going to be a great asset."

Phil squared his jaw.

"She will. Now will you go, so I can finish packing?"

The blond frowned.

"Packing?"

Phil smiled tightly.

"I'm on suspension."

The archer paled, taking a step back.

"Why? You did nothing!"

Phil shrugged.

"Another note in your file and you would have been sent away."

The younger man frowned, looking haunted.

"You took the fall for me."

Phil smiled tightly once more.

"For old time's sake."

The other man's looked lost. Phil opened one drawer, and took out the first diary on top, the archer's one. The blond frowned and went to talk, until Phil took out the second one and set it neatly beside it.

Hawkeye's eyes went as wide as saucers and he went so pale Phil wondered if he was going to faint. For a long moment they look at each other, the archer's mouth opened and closed a few times.

His blue eyes were almost liquid, but Phil looked away, gathering a few other things. He went to the door and looked back one more time.

"I'll be gone for two weeks. I've already filled a request to transfer you to another handler."

Phil nodded his good byes to Clint, and exited. He heard a shout behind him.

"Coulson! Wait! NITO!"

He ignored the cries and drove home.

OOOOOOO

Phil went to sleep that night, and finally noticed he had left the diary back at S.H.I.E.L.D. He shook himself.

It didn't matter now.

OOOOOOO

The morning after Phil got out of his bedroom only to freeze. The Black Widow was sprawled over his couch, casually reading one of Phil's old books. He froze and stared, bile rising in his throat.

"You're supposed to be at S.H.I.E.L.D."

She shot him a brief look over the book because resuming reading it.

"Since you're not around anymore, I'm his problem. He wanted to talk to you so I had to come."

Phil frowned and cocked his head.

"His problem-"

Suddenly he heard light footsteps in the kitchen, and Hawkeye appeared. For a moment, Phil and the blond stared at each other before the archer turned to look at the woman.

"A little privacy, Natasha?"

She looked at him for a second before sighing and getting to her feet. She walked to Phil's bedroom and closed the door. Hawkeye winced at it and looked at Phil from under his eyelashes.

"Sorry about that."

Phil talked evenly.

"The door was locked."

The blonde grimaced.

"Yeah. I needed to talk to you."

For the first time in years Phil felt himself sneer.

"Oh yes, wanting to talk to someone who won't answer. Imagine the pain."

Hawkeye's jaw squared and he looked away. He went to put something on the coffee table and for the first time Phil noticed he had a cup of coffee in his hand, a black cup of coffee. The archer always drowned his coffee with a ton of milk and sugar, something that got them threw a few boring ops, bitching about.

Hawkeye had made him coffee. Phil was torn between taking it because dear god he needed coffee, and throwing it away because he wanted nothing from the archer.

"Hawkeye, please leave."

"Clint."

He looked up at the archer, who was determinedly looking down.

"What?"

"My name's Clint. Clint Barton."

Phil glared at him.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Clint mumbled.

"Because I want you to know!"

Phil cried out.

"Why are you acting like you care!"

The blond's head shot up.

"Of course I care! Do you think I had fun? Not being able to answer you?"

Phil shouted.

"Then why did you! Why did you pretend I didn't exist?"

Clint clenched his fist.

"It was the best thing to do."

Phil sneered at him.

"Says who?"

Clint took a step forward.

"Says I. I'm not that stupid. I was a freaking circus freak, who had just been ditched, I was alone, struggling to survive. I was a street scum. The day you told me about the army thing, I killed a man because someone offered me five hundred dollars for it. I would have brought you nothing but trouble."

Phil stared at the other man for a long while, shaking with rage.

"That. Wasn't. Your. Choice. To. Make."

Clint took another step forward.

"I missed you so much! You have no idea. I read every single of your messages. Every night. Every day."

Phil slashed his hands.

"How am I supposed to believe you? I loved you! I still do! But you still run away from me, leaving me in the dust. Leaving me behind to cope with everything alone. I was heartbroken about a man I had never seen in my life."

Clint reddened.

"Heartbroken? How do you think I felt when you told me you were falling in love?"

Phil stepped forward again.

"I was falling in love with _you_! I was **that **stupid! I was falling in love twice with the same fucking bastard!"

Clint froze and looked at him with his mouth open, clearly not expecting it. Phil stared at him for a while longer.

"Please leave."

The archer stared at him before letting his head fall and turning around. He called out "Natasha." before exiting. The red head exited the room and looked at Phil for a long time.

"I owe you."

Phil didn't answer, and she left too. He didn't want any debt anymore. He didn't want any strings attaching him to these people. He didn't want any more reasons to delude himself that he belonged in their world.

With a pained groan, he let himself fall on the couch, head in hand. Then he saw the coffee cup.

He took a sip.

It was perfect.

He threw it away.

OOOOOOO

It was only that night he noticed that a diary had been left on his bedside table. There was note on the cover, in an unknown writing he guessed was the Black Widow's. Natasha's.

I don't know what is going on, but he spent most of the night staring at this. Maybe you should get it back.

Phil considered throwing it away. He really did.

But he couldn't.

He opened it.

_Hey Nito. Coulson. Sir. I don't have a clue how I'm supposed to call you, but hey. I'm sorry. I was an idiot._

There were a few messages, clearly all written during the day.

_If I have to send you a message for all the ones I haven't answered, I will._

_I'm sorry. I probably already told you. I really am. _

_I suck at this. But hey. You know, at some point I wondered about ending it. It all. Then you sent me a message. I don't remember what it was about. It made me feel better. _

Another one appeared just as Phil read.

_I was falling in love with you too. I didn't want to. I felt like I was betraying you. Well, Nito. I'm sorry. I should have said something._

Phil squished the warm feeling that had left him for years now, the one that returned a bit. He closed the book and went to bed. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore the tears welling up.

OOOOOOO

_Natasha wiped the floor with Woo. Don't look at me like that. If you're allowed to talk about you blowing up some shit head's gloves, I can rant about Nat being awesome._

OOOOOOOO

Every day, Phil tried to do his best not to look at the diary. He failed, and then he tried to convince himself he wasn't going to bend. He wasn't going to fall from Clint.

OOOOOOO

_You looked nice today. I like the blue shirt._

OOOOOOO

Day after day, Phil came closer and closer to realizing he was fighting a losing battle.

OOOOOOO

_Am I allowed to use Jackson's jock as a target? It's probably small enough to give me a challenge._

OOOOOOO

A month later, Phil finished a debrief with Natasha to go over her integration within S.H.I.E.L.D., when he stopped her just before exiting.

"Will you tell Agent Barton I would like to see him?"

Natasha eyed him speculatively for a moment, cocking her head and visibly wondering whether to send him to hell, before smirking and fishing something from her pocket. She threw it at him, which he caught deftly, and she was gone before he could check what it was.

Thankfully because he turned a probably brilliant shade of red when he took in the condoms and the little tube of lube.

The Russian spy thing was a bit worrying.

He was still considering the trouble he threw the whole organization in, when Clint came in, after a tentative knock. Phil quickly dropped the whole thing behind him on the chair. The blond seemed a bit at a lost for a moment, as Phil cocked his head.

"Pickle blueberry muffins?"

Clint opened his mouth indignantly.

"Don't bash pickles blueberry muffins, sir!"

Phil smirked, and tried to ignore the fact it was the first proper conversation they had since he threw Barton out of his apartment.

"I wasn't aware you were pregnant, Barton. Should I be jealous?"

The archer started protesting.

"I'm not a wom- Jealo- why would you be j- what?"

Phil decided to take mercy on the other man-because he wasn't that much of a bastard, thank you very much.

He stood and circled the desk, grabbing the other man by the waist. Clint had barely the time to gasp before Phil crashed their lips together.

The kiss was messy and hot, and ten years late in coming. Phil groaned, Clint grunted, and it wasn't perfect because the both of them where far too old and cynical to ever call anything perfect, but it was getting damn close.

When they broke apart to breath, Phil panted his Clint's ear.

"You're not forgiven."

The archer nodded.

"Okay."

Phil smiled, still breathless.

"And I am fully expecting you to continue repay your Diary Debt."

Clint chuckled in answer, expression opened in awe.

"Sir, yes sir."

Phil pulled back a bit to stare in the blond's magnificent blue eyes.

"And I am not letting you go. Ever."

Clint grabbed the side of Phil's face, and pressed in for another long, thorough kiss. He smirked when they separated again.

"Right back you, sir."

Coulson cocked his head, pursing his lips a bit.

"Phil."

Clint smiled like it was his birthday.

"Phil. Right."

The Agent smirked, going to peck the archer's lips once more.

"Were you aware Senior Agent's got quarters at HQ?"

Clint leaned back a bit to arch and eyebrow at the other man.

"You're going to tell me that _you _keep _stuff _in your S.H.I.E.L.D. quarters?"

Phil smirked.

"Nope, I'm going to tell you that you have managed to recruit a nice, weird and slightly scary BFF."

Clint raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah?"

Phil leaned in until their noses brushed.

"Oh _yeah._"

OOOOOOO

_Does the curse about grooms seeing themselves on the eve of the wedding include diary messaging?_

_I'm not sure the situation was specified. But I think Natasha scared any possible disturbances._

_Nito, you're supposed to be the stern one. And I'm pretty sure you can't scare off a curse._

_Shut up, Lo, I'm getting married tomorrow, go find someone else to harass you about rules. And don't under estimate Natasha's super powers._

_You're an adorable geek, you know that?_

_You make a point to remind me once in a while. You know, it was about time you paid your Diary Debt._

_You didn't have to be such a stickler about not marrying me before I was done._

_I am not going to marry someone who can't pay his debts._

_I love you._

_I love you too._

_God, can you hear how fucking domestic we've become?_

_Lo, we're writing._

_God, can you read how fucking domestic we've become._

_You're unredeemable._

_Oops, gotta go, Natasha looks like she's gonna slice my throat. _

_Don't worry, she's just working on making the curse wet itself._

_And with this comedy genius, I'm out._

_Good night._

_Good night._

OOOOOOO

Phil was making his way through the reception with Clint clinging at his arm. They had given up separating Natasha and Phil's sister, and had accepted that some kind of international conflict inducing catastrophe was going to happen at some point. Because they were going to kick the ass of the poor bastard that would get inappropriate after one too much glass of champagne.

"Phillip!"

Phil froze and cursed. He didn't even know she was still alive. He turned around.

"Hey, Aunt Lizzy."

Clint looked questioningly at him before stopping in his tracks as well.

"Miss Bennet!"

Phil stared at Clint.

"You know her?"

Clint stared back.

"Yeah! She was my teacher! She's the one who gave me the diary!"

Phil slowly turned toward the old woman, who was bouncing somewhat too generically for her age, her laughing brown eyes focused and strangely sane as Phil couldn't remember them ever to be.

She shrugged and giggled.

"Boys can be such idiots when it comes to matter of the hearts. Believe my experience."

She leaned forward and whispered cheekily.

"Remember kids, it's all in the hips. Keep it rolling, keep it fluid. And remember to enjoy it. My dear William always said-"

Phil tried to smile and steered Clint away from the aunt now that she seemed to go back in her world, and did his best to forget his ancient aunt giving sex advice. There was only so much his brain could handle tonight.

Clint was giggling, the utter asshole.

"So that's the one that got us together."

Phil nodded.

"Yep."

Clint jabbed a finger in his side.

"You should be thankful."

Phil sneered.

"I am. I can also be from a distance."

Clint mock frowned at him.

"Phillip Coulson, you should be ashamed."

Coulson shuddered.

"Don't call me that."

Clint chuckled. There was a small silence before the archer turned back to him with a smile far wider than the situation warranted, as far as Phil was concerned.

"You're really related to that woman?"

"Now you are too." Phil grumbled as he looked away. Clint barked out a loud laugh, and hung unto Phil's arm, before pecking the older man loudly on the cheek.

"This is going to be awesome."

Phil couldn't help but agree.

**Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it! **


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